


Kiss Me Out of Here

by RedKissKate



Series: Blue-Eyed World [1]
Category: due South
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedKissKate/pseuds/RedKissKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first part of a AU series where Ray K. is not a cop, Ray V. never went undercover and Fraser learns that when leaping off buildings, it's not the landing that you should be worried about but the fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Out of Here

"So that's your plan?"

It is impossible to tell from the man's level tones if he is expressing disbelief or simply requesting more information. Fraser wants to apologize, to compliment the man's courage, to ask him his name, but there is only one possible answer to his question.

"Yes."

"You call jumping out of a window at night, falling like a rock a thousand feet into a lake and then drowning, instead of sitting here and waiting to get all crispy, a plan?"

"Well the drop is actually closer to 45 feet, 14 meters if you will, than a thousand. And while the chances that we will lose consciousness on impact and drown are significant...."

"Ok, stop right there. You had me at 45 feet."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, going glub glub has got to be a better way to die than burning, right? So, let's do it. What's your name anyway?"

Smoke and uncertain moonlight robs the room of it's four corners. It gives their prison the illusion of infinite space but the stranger stands before him, an angular rebuke to the shapeless void. Unlike his words, his body appears poised to convey a challenge, though Fraser cannot tell with any degree of certainty if that air of defiance is conscious or not.

"Benton Fraser"

"Ray Kowalski."

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, it's just that I already know a Ray"

Too late, he realizes the inanity of his reply.

"Well, now you know two."

"Ah, indeed."

Since there is clearly no arguing the unequivocal, Fraser is at a loss as what to say next. Even standing still, the stranger gives the impression of immense energy barely constrained and as Fraser catches the man's gaze, he feels impossibly crowded, pushed tight against some unknown limit, as if his skin is a shell or casing that should be outgrown. For no reason at all, his heart speeds it's pace until he is half mad with the need to move and yet he cannot. It's a ridiculous reaction, absolutely unsuited for their present circumstances and he can only feel gratitude when the man turns away.

When Mr. Kowalski meets his eyes again, he has lost all trace of the fey calmness that has thrown Fraser so far from his usual professional demeanor. His face is now tight with apprehension and fear.

"I can't swim."

The confession recalls Fraser to his duty and any confusion he may have felt is quickly set aside in favor of concentrating on the more pressing issue of their survival.

"That should present no problem. I've been trained in water rescue. If we live through the impact, then it will be a simple matter of you allowing me to swim us both to shore."

"Simple, huh?"

"Well yes, as long as you keep still and do not struggle. If you do, then you could drown us both."

"Jeez, thanks for the heads up."

"You're welcome. I certainly hope that if we do survive this, that you will find the time to take swimming lessons. As you can see, swimming is a basic skill that could be called upon at any moment in matters of life and ...other things."

To Fraser's embarrassment, he can hear himself trailing off as his fellow captive looks at him with growing incredulity and amusement, fear taking it's place in the background once more.

"So this is you? You go through life in a funny outfit, rescuing people and spreading public service messages like Superman on crack?"

"The uniform has a long tradition of symbolizing authority and justice in Canada and can hardly be construed as funny." He begins heatedly, but his words are waved away.

"Ok, so the outfit isn't funny, it's as sober as a judge. Still, is this how you spend your days, Benton Fraser?"

"This situation is certainly nothing new." Fraser agrees cautiously, wondering just what it is he is admitting to.

"Huh" is the man's only reply.

He has no idea what to make of such a response and quickly does his best to bring their attention back to the matter at hand. The open window has kept the smoke down to a minimum, allowing them to talk, but the situation is once again growing dire as the fire approaches them. It is clear they must act soon or risk the warehouse collapsing around them.

"Mr. Kowalski, if you don't mind, I think it's time we make an exit."

"Just a minute."

The man takes a step and then another, until he is too close for politeness and a smile, sudden and brilliant, is on his lips. Even through the layers of the uniform and the stifling heat of the incinerating building, his hands are shockingly warm on Fraser's arms. Seeing that smile from such a small distance slows time, until it flows as lazily as the syrup his grandmother collected every spring of his childhood. Moving is not an option. Neither, apparently, is coherent thought.

"What..?"

"Hey, we're going to die anyway, right? And if I don't do this now, I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life. All thirty seconds of it."

"What?" Fraser tries to ask again, his sense of self-preservation screaming at him to try and do something to stop this slide into madness. His muscles refuse to obey him and in his body's betrayal he is forced to realize the truth of his own desire.

The kiss is a terrible thing, just as he knew it would be.

Hard lips on his, a tongue in his mouth and when it slicks across his own, the lightening strike of arousal shakes him to his very foundation. His hands find their place, mirroring the other's hold on him, and he feels his hard won shield of detachment being ruthlessly stripped away. Nothing is left but needy vulnerability and the shame of this realization just drives his passion to more dizzying heights.

And then the man moves, pulling Fraser against his body and Fraser surrenders, gives up, leaves everything about himself behind as he dives into the pleasure of it all.

The pair of them, sharing one space, this now is his entire world. When his lover attempts to pull away it is more than he can bear. He fights to keep the connection, to remain in the kiss, but is not surprised that all his effort is in vain. With a twist of his shoulders, Ray Kowalski is free from Fraser's arms and standing several feet away, struggling for breath.

In despair, Fraser can think of nothing to say, can not even begin to place words together into any type of coherent whole.

Then Ray moves once again, but this time he comes close only to offer his hand. Fraser accepts it, as he fears he will accept anything this man is willing to give.

Together, they carefully make their way through the window and out onto the building's ledge.

"See you on the other side."

One more smile and the hand in his falls away.

"On three, right?"

"Yes"

"One"

"Two"

"Three"

Ray leaps first and he follows. Effortlessly, his feet leave the ledge and it is all so easy that, for a moment, he feels a fool's hope. But then gravity catches him, and he is following Icarus' path, down, down, into the dark.

 

* * *

 

"Ray!"

"Ray!"

"What! Ow!"

While the open hood of the bus isn't so much as dented by the impact of Ray's head, the collision starts up a white hot burst of agony just over his left eye that pulsates to a 2/4 beat.

"Fuck it!"

The clang of the wrench as it hits the wall just makes the pain throb even harder, but he still feels a little better after letting off some steam. The Center is down to two functioning buses that are only up and running because he's been spending his free time babying them along. But all the tlc in the world can't get round the fact that both buses are clearly on their last legs. When they finally give out, there's no way he and Rachael will be able to afford to replace them.

Before he can get up a good long brood on the Center's iffy prospects, Frankie appears out of nowhere to smirk at him and his aching head. Little bastard doesn't even twitch under the full force of the death glare that's beaming directly at him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Miss Franklin wants to see you in her office"

"You couldn't just tell me that without yelling my name all over the place?"

"Didn't know where you were at."

Ray manfully resists the urge to sigh. Frankie's brain is too filled with smug teenage complacency to let anything else through and there's no cure for that other than praying he grows out of it pretty damn quick.

"Never mind. Here, start cleaning up this mess while I go see Rachael."

"But why should I have to do it? It's not my mess!"

Jesus, the whining really isn't helping his head feel any better.

"Yeah, well, life's tough all over. Tell you what, get all the tools back in their place and take care of that oil spill and tomorrow I'll let you help when I install a new wiper motor in this hunk of junk."

"Really? Cool."

It's a short walk from the garage to the main building and Ray's grateful for the lack of time to think. Too many minutes alone with nothing to do and he can't control where his thoughts take him. Worries about the center always take center stage but that's just the opening act and sooner or later he knows he can count on the mess with Nick and Stella to start flashing up on the screen in glorious fucking Technicolor. But not today, no way. He's not going to think about it. Rachael needs him for something and he's not going to get distracted by a little trip down memory lane.

Rachael's office is the largest one in the building, which isn't saying much. Just enough room really, for her desk and a small couch that's seen better days. Usually he would take a seat on the couch but right now it's occupied by Rachael with her arm around another woman who's clearly fighting off tears.

After a moment, Rachael raises her head and acknowledges him with a nod. It's a relief to be able to meet her eyes again and not see a hundred questions pouring out of them. Usually ninety-nine of them were some variation of "are you all right?" But he could always catch the last one hidden in the concern that seemed to be more along the lines of "are you going to screw up this up just like you've screwed up everything else in your life?

"Ray, this is Mrs. Johnson, Antwoine's mother. Mrs. Johnson, this is Ray Kowalski. He's the other director here at the center."

Surprised, Ray takes her hand when she holds it out and gives it a polite shake. Antwoine is one of the new kids, but he seemed to have his head on straight. Doesn't seem to be the kind to make his mother cry anyhow.

"It's good to meet you Mr. Kowalski; Antwoine is always talking about you and how much he likes it here."

"Yeah well, he's a good kid" Ray replies uncomfortably, wondering what the hell is going on.

"Mrs. Johnson is here because she has concerns about her oldest son, Dwayne."

"He's run off!"

The grief and anguish in those three words is almost unbearable and Ray is glad to see Rachael raise her arm to give Mrs. Johnson another hug.

"Last night we were screaming and hollering because he won't stop running with those boys down on Clarence St. and this morning he didn't come down for breakfast. He took some clothes and food and he's just gone."

"She came to us, because she doesn't want to involve the police."

"Dwayne's a good boy, I swear. He doesn't have anything to do with drugs, but some of these friends of his, I know are dealing. But he just won't listen."

"Mrs. Johnson, do you mind giving us a minute? I need to talk to Ray and we have some coffee and soda available in the break room."

Once Mrs. Johnson is settled in the big comfy chair in the break room with a cup of coffee and Mary Astor keeping her company, Rachael hustles him back into her office and closes the door.

"Ray what are we going to do? If she calls the police now that she's come to us, those assholes won't wait a minute before coming down and searching the place. They're just looking for an excuse to shut us down. And Jesus, if drugs are involved, we're dead."

Ray wants to be up and moving but there's only a small space available between the desk and the couch and Rachael's already using it for a little pacing of her own. This whole situation would be a hell of lot easier to handle if he had a drink or a smoke in his hand.

"Have you talked to Antwoine yet? He might know where is brother is staying."

"Yes and he said no. But maybe you should talk to him."

"Yeah, I'll do that."

Ray wishes he could offer more, say something like "Hey, don't worry. What ever happens, we can handle it." But the fact of the matter is that they've been stretched so thin for so long, it would take just the smallest push to send them over into disaster.

He finds Antwoine in the gym, playing pickup with a few other kids.

"Hey 'Twoine, you got a moment?"

As soon as the kid looks at him, he knows it's going to be a hard sell. Worry and distrust has turned his face into a mask and his walk is so stiff that it looks like he's hooked up to invisible stilts.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Well, first off a little privacy. You want to go for a walk?"

"I guess"

Once outside, Ray does the strong and silent act until it almost kills him. They make it around the building and down to the parking lot before Antwoine finally breaks.

"I told Miss Franklin already, I don't know where he is."

"Yeah, that's what Rachael said. But excuse me if I find it a little hard to believe that your brother just took off without saying anything to anyone about where he was going."

"Well, he did."

"I'm going to lay it all out for you Antwoine and you're going to listen. Your mom said Dwayne was running with kids down on Clarence street, which makes them part of Bolton's gang, right?"

"Yeah"

"You know those guys are bad news. If your brother gets mixed up with them, chances are he's going to end up in jail or dead."

"What, you think he's stupid? He knows that, man. That's why he ran away."

"I'm not following you"

"Tommy was after him to start dealing but Dwayne said no. Tommy wouldn't listen, so he took off before Mom or me could get hurt."

"So, what? Your brother is now living on the streets with Tommy Bolton gunning for him?"

The mask that's been wearing Antwoine's face begins to crack and Ray feels like a royal bastard for pushing so hard, but he still needs answers.

"Look, I want to help but you've got to tell me where Dwayne is."

"And what are you going to do? You and Miss Franklin can't even get the police to stop hassling us here at the center, but you think you can take on Tommy and his whole gang?"

"No, but we can get him out of town. Maybe send him to Boston to stay with Father Joseph."

"You for real?"

"Yeah, but I need to know where he's staying."

It's hard not to say more, but he's made his offer. Antwoine's either going to get with the program or he's not. The silence stretches out and it takes everything in him to just stand there and wait as the kid decides which way he's going to jump.

"He didn't say anything for sure, but there's a lot of kids crashing at the warehouse down by the lake. He knows a couple of them, so he might be staying there."

"Thanks for telling me, Antwoine."

"You promise that you'll help him, right?"

"Yeah, I promise. You should probably find your Mom now and go home."

"What? No way, man. I'm going with you."

It takes a lot more talking and then some yelling, but finally he convinces Antwoine to leave with Mrs. Johnson and not try to find his brother on his own.

Rachael is less than thrilled with his plan of going down alone to the warehouse, so it takes even more talking with her before she agrees to let him take care of tracking down Dwayne. By the time they both agree on the plan, his head is one big ball of pain and he's living for the moment that the four Tylenols that he's scarfed down will start to work. The one bit of good news in this whole mess is that when Rachael calls, Father Joe is in his office and is happy to set Dwayne up with a place to stay.

 

When he gets there, the warehouse is easy to spot. It's the only building in the area still standing with a roof to call it's own. The metallic stink of industrial waste and stale water coats the back of his throat while the setting sun splashes red everywhere, it's shine turning broken windows into a hundred hungry eyes. In other words, the place is fucking creepy. It looks like it's just waiting for a horror film to come around and put it to use. But it's kids standing around the building, not zombies, so he shakes off the heebie jeebies and tries to focus on finding Dwayne.

The first few kids he stops aren't exactly helpful. Either their brains are too fried by whatever shit they scored off a dealer or they're just too freaked to answer his questions. He and Rachael don't usually have much to do with runaways, but now that he's here, he wishes that he had brought flyers about the center or something. Something, no matter how small, that could help get these children out of a crappy place like this.

Finally, a skinny guy wearing a Yankees cap recognizes Dwayne's name and offers to take Ray to him. He's bobbing and weaving to some sort of internal music as he walks but he seems to know where he's going, so Ray find himself following. He's lead straight into the warehouse and every nerve in his body goes on alert. The guy could just be inclined to be helpful, or he could be taking Ray to a few of his buddies who have plans of their own. He doesn't think he looks like a prime candidate for rolling, but to a juiced up junkie, his beat up jeans and t-shirt might still scream I have more money than you. He should have listened to Rachael and brought some back up even though the fewer people who about Dwayne's situation, the better.

To his surprise, the inside is a lot nicer than the outside. Somebody's made an effort to keep the garbage off of the floor and the enormous room is well lit by trashcan fires and a few portable lamps. In here, the chemical reek isn't nearly so bad and most of the people seem to be upright and moving rather than slumped in unconscious heaps on the floor. Wooden pallets that must be left over from when the place was in business are put to use everywhere, and a few mismatched speakers are scattered around, doing a halfway decent job of pumping out a dance track. He's actually paid to be in clubs that were a lot worse off than this place.

The Yankees guy nods to a few people as they make their way toward the back, but so far doesn't seem to be signaling for an ambush. Ray relaxes a little and tries to get a feeling for the layout. There's the huge space he's in right now but there are also plenty of doors lining the walls that open up to god knows what and a rickety set of metal stairs in the corner that reaches upward to some unseen landing.

They finally come to a stop in front of one of the rooms leading off from the back wall. His guide gives a single knock before opening the door and gesturing Ray inside.

As soon as they enter, the three kids who are in the room are up and in defensive positions. To Ray's great relief, there's no sign of guns.

"Terrance, what the hell is this?"

"Chill, all right? This dude was looking for you, but he's all by himself so it's cool."

Yeah, if guys like Terrance here is the best Dwayne can do, then he needs to get out of here pronto before his next address is the city morgue.

"Jesus, you're such an idiot. Did you even check to see if he was carrying?"

Ray decides to give up the idea of relying on Terrance to do anything but piss off everyone in the room.

"No, and I'm not"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"My name's Ray, I work down at the Dell Franklin Center. Your mom and your brother are real worried about you Dwayne and they asked me to try and help."

At the mention of his mom, Dwayne starts to look like the teenager he is however he's obviously unimpressed by Ray's offer.

"And you're going to take on Tommy Bolton? Just ask him pretty please to stop looking for me?"

"Look, there are things that I can do or your mom wouldn't have come to me, right? But I'm not to go into the plan in front of an audience. Can we talk alone?"

Sometime over the last few hours it must have occurred to Dwayne that he doesn't really have a lot of options, because it doesn't take much more than that to convince him that a little privacy would be a good idea. Terrance,secure in his knowledge that "hey, it's all cool," has no problem leaving. Dwayne's buddies though, are not so happy with the idea and insist on patting him down. When it's clear that he doesn't have a piece stashed away inside his colon or whatever, they finally stomp off.

Then it's time for the sales pitch once again, so he hits the high points. Go visit scenic Boston! Stay in a quaint 19th century building otherwise known as the St Sebastian Youth Center! Avoid being gunned down by a two-bit dealer and his gang!

When he's done, he sees hope in the kid's face and he hates put the brakes on however, there's still a few questions he needs answered.

"You can really do this? Get me out of town and everything?"

"Yeah, but I need to know some things first. Why's Bolton really after you? It's not like he's ever had any problem recruiting fresh blood for his gang, so why is he pissed off to find out that your no means no?"

"I don't know, maybe he had special plans for me or something."

"Uh huh. Cut the bullshit, Dwayne, there's people involved in this who could be hurt if you're not straight with me. So either tell me the truth or wave goodbye to your ticket out of here."

"I swear man, I don't know."

"That's it, I'm gone."

"Just wait a minute! Look, you promise you won't tell my mom, right?"

"Kid, I think you have a few more things to worry about right now than what your mom knows."

"Just promise, ok?"

"Yeah, ok."

"Mom's been out of work since March and our dad's not hanging around, so money's been real tight. And Tommy's always saying how you can earn more in one night working with him than you could get in a month working some fast food job."

Ray begins to see red when he realizes where this story is headed.

"Do not tell me you're dealing! Do not tell me I'm helping a fucking drug dealer!"

"No, it's not like that! I mean I was going to do it. Tommy passed me some stuff and told me I could keep half of what I brought in. But, then I went home and my mom was there. We had this whole fight about me hanging out with Tommy and how I was going to ruin my life doing something stupid. After I cooled down, I knew I couldn't go through with it and I tried to give the stuff back to Tommy. But, he wouldn't take it. He said I needed to have the money for him by Saturday or he'll come after me. So I ran."

The headache Ray's been fighting off is back in in full force and he's practically running circles into floor trying to process what Dwayne is telling him.

"What did you do with the drugs?"

"I didn't know what else to do with them, so I hid them."

"Did you tell anyone where you stashed them?"

"No"

"You swear on your mother's life you weren't dealing?"

"Yeah. I mean I know I was stupid, but I wasn't that stupid."

"Then here's what we are going to do. Tomorrow you are going to meet me at the station and we're putting you on a train straight to Boston. When you get there, we'll worry about the drugs. Maybe you can phone in an anonymous tip to the police or something."

"Yeah, all right."

"Are you going to be ok here tonight?"

"Sure, it's cool"

Ray truly doubts that, but he just hands over his card. Let the kid stay optimistic for now.

"Call this number first thing in the morning and I'll tell you what time you should show up. And for Christ's sake, don't tell anyone about this."

"Ok"

He's almost to the door, when Dwayne speaks again.

"Hey man, thanks for all of this. I mean it."

There isn't much he can to say to that, so he just gives a nod and leaves.

He is halfway to getting out of the place and putting this whole day behind him when the fire breaks out.

One moment everything is fine and the next there's the sound of glass hitting concrete and three foot tall flames are edging up the corner right beside him. Somewhere else in the room, more glass breaks and it takes him a second to put two and two together and come up with molotov cocktail. It takes a second longer for anybody else to notice, but then it all goes straight to hell.

There's a rush for the exit and screams are bouncing off the walls as everybody in the building struggles to get out at the same time. It's like swimming upstream to fight the flow of the crowd. He elbows at least one joker in the head before finally making it back to Dwayne's room and kicking open the door. The kid's standing in the middle of the room, looking completely freaked.

He blinks when Ray barrels up to him and grabs his arm.

"Come on and move, damn it!"

That gets his legs working and they run out of the room only to join the mass of humanity that's fighting to get through the loading dock doors. Smoke, think with the reek of formaldehyde and cheap wood, is filling the room, making his every breath rasp deep in his lungs as more and more people are added to the bottleneck.

"Is this the only exit?" he yells at Dwayne but the kid can't hear him. Before he can ask again, the girl right in front of them trips and goes down. His heart starts up a hummingbird beat as he realizes that people could die here tonight, just by trying to get through the fucking door. He dives for the girl and drags her upright before she can be trampled. She looks to be all of fifteen and she's crying, mascara running in dark tracks down her cheeks.

Suddenly, the crowd starts to move and thank you god, just past the tangle of bodies in front of them, he can see the sky. A few more feet and they'll be home free. The girl is yanking on his arm, trying to get his attention and when he lowers his head, she screams in his ear

"Please, you've got to help. I can't find Jesse."

It hits him all at once that nobody's riding to the rescue any time soon. Who knows how long it'll take for the fire department to find out about this blaze. He's left his cell at home and he sure as hell doesn't see anyone else dialing 911. In his mind's eye he can see all those rooms, with kids like her and Dwayne too frightened to do anything but stay inside.

The crowd parts like the red sea and empties out around them. He pushes through and presto, they're on the outside, feeling humidity from the lake thick against their sweaty skin. He doesn't let them stop until they're all a good distance away from building and then he collapses. He's lying on his back and breathing in huge gulps of the stinky night time air when the girl darts off, still crying as if the world was ending. Dwayne stays right beside him though, clearly waiting for orders on what to do next. After a few minutes, Ray convinces his lungs to work again and then he concentrates on getting upright.

Lurching to his feet, he grabs the kid's arm, and shakes it until he gets his full attention.

"You still have that number I gave you?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, here's some cash. Go find a phone and call 911, let them know about the fire. Then dial that number and ask for Rachael. She'll set you up with a place to stay and will get you on a train tomorrow."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry about it, just get out of here."

Dwayne leaves and he should be concentrating on the situation at hand, but he can't shake thoughts of Nick from his head. Those last days before they split up for good, when it seemed like things were going to work out between them and every single moment was golden. When he walked around with Nick's touch on his body, his taste in his mouth 24/7. Before the fighting and the yelling and the whole thing ending with Nick dying in a fucking car crash.

When he had been told about the accident, he hadn't felt anything but numb and now that feeling is back. There's a calm blankness spread deep inside where he should be needing move or shout or go crazy in a million different ways. He just feels tired and so sick of pretending that everything's ok, when it's never really stop hurting.

But none of this means shit. He's got things to do and wasting time on the past isn't one of them.

Back inside, the place is all smoke, shadows and licking flames, making it a dead ringer for Sister Catherine's description of hell from the fourth grade. The first few rooms are empty, but behind door number three are a couple of kids barely in the their teens, crouched in a corner and scared out of their minds.

He doesn't have a lot of time to be persuasive, but something in his face or the way he's wildly miming "come with me" must convince them to trust him. They're out of the room and moving full speed ahead when they run straight into the Mountie.

At first all he sees is that he's bouncing off something red and upright and stupid thoughts about brick walls flash through his brain. On his second look, peering up from the floor, he realizes that it's not a wall they hit, but close to six feet of guy standing there in a Mountie suit. It's like going to a boxing match and seeing your grandmother in the ring, the weirdness of the situation short circuits his mind and for a second all he can do is sit there and look up.

The kids could care less that they've run into Dudley Do Right and almost as soon as they're down they're scrambling up again and looking for a way out. Their hysteria brings him out of la la land fast and when the guy extends his hand, he takes it. Then they're all hustling for the door.

Outside it's chaos, people milling around with nothing else to do but watch as the closest thing that they had for a home burn to the ground. The kids immediately leave him and the Mountie to join in the general confusion. Of course there's no sign of any fire trucks, which means the cavalry is taking it's time, but screw it anyway. It's not like anything about this night has been easy, so why should it change now?

Ray's so intent on retracing his steps, that it takes a second for the hand on his arm to register. He turns and his first good look at the guy is a punch to the gut. He's exactly his height, with a face so perfect it almost seems pretty and eyes that completely wreck Ray's ability to think. It's like being hit with his own personal incendiary device. Adrenaline and desire tangle in his gut until he's shaking and struck dumb.

Then the guy starts to talk and his last hope for sanity goes straight out the window.

"Don't worry. My wolf has found our friend by now and he will have alerted the firemen. They should be along at any moment"

Wait a second here, what?

"Uh, wolf?"

"Yes, his name is Diefenbaker"

And unbelievably, before he can ask another question, Dances with Wolves or whatever the hell his name is, runs straight back into the building. It's a good thing that shock has set in and he's back to feeling freakishly calm, because otherwise Ray's pretty sure he would be jumping out of his own skin right about now. What the fuck was that? Since when is Canada exporting fucking mounties like maple syrup? With a wolf? And what, did he just see a giant M in the sky and swoop down to save the day? And why is Ray still standing around like an idiot when there's a gorgeous, insane guy in there who probably needs his help?

Even with the smoke and the general chaos, Mr. Tall, Dark and Delusional is not that hard to find. He looks surprised to see Ray there, like Ray was supposed to just go ahead and join the crowd outside on his say so. It's hard to breath and talking is almost impossible, so he leads the way past the last room he checked and starts breaking down doors.

It takes what feels like forever, but they check every nook and cranny in the place until it's clear that there's nobody left in need of a rescue. He's about to grab the guy's arm and get him out of there, when the Mountie goes stone still, his head cocked like he could actually hear something aside from the building falling apart around them. Then he's off again with Ray staggering behind him, wheezing up a storm. He's beginning to wonder if he should just whallop the guy for his own good and drag his unconscious ass outside.

Big Red does his chariots of fire thing straight to the back corner and up the staircase that Ray has conveniently forgotten. Fuck, fuck, fuck! A quick and ugly war takes place between him and his conscience. He's done his heroic bit and one guy, no matter how good looking, is just not worth it.

Yeah, he's absolutely not going to waste his time chasing after a crazy person. Which doesn't explain why, ten seconds latter, he's following the Mountie up the damn stairs. Every step he takes rattles the whole contraption and the metal rail burns his hand whenever he tries to steady himself. Combined with the fact that he can't really see anything and it's almost impossible to breath, the whole climb is one long nightmare that doesn't seem to ever end.

He's practically on his hands and knees the last few steps and with all of his attention on living long enough to get to the top and through the door, it takes him a moment to notice anything but the fact that he's made it.

Then he looks up and sees the people.

Who have guns.

Guns that are pointed straight at him and the guy in red.

At this point several things become clear. One is that these people don't look to be interested in being rescued. Two is that something hinky is going down, probably involving the cash on the table and the suitcases that are piled around the guy with the laptop. Three is that, holy shit, they're going to die!

The Mountie opens his mouth to say something. Hopefully something along the lines of "Oops, our mistake, we'll just be going now". But thug number one makes a gesture with his gun that should easily translate internationally as "shut up". Unfortunately, the Mountie doesn't seem to know sign language, because he's keeps right on talking.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that everyone put down their guns and come with us. We have very little time before the fire renders the entire building uninhabitable."

It's a bad time to notice, but Ray can't help but think that the guy's attitude of total confidence in the face of five people ready to kill him is insanely hot. Unfortunately, all that intensity doesn't get him anything but ignored. The first thug keeps his piece trained on them while thugs two through five look to be having something of an argument. It would be nice to know over what exactly, but it's impossible to hear over the racket the fire is making down below.

All this standing around makes him nervous. Aside from the fact that the building is being slowly burned away beneath them, he knows in his bones that the Mountie is gearing up to try something incredibly stupid. Possibly involving rushing the gangster who's got the gun.

Before that can happen, the arguing stops and he and the Mountie are being lead out of the room and down a long, dark and narrow hall. He's about to just say the hell with it and do something stupid all on his own, when they get pushed into a room. Faster than he can get on his feet again, the door is shut and locked. The door looks to be made of solid metal, which just makes no fucking sense at all, and no matter what he tries, it doesn't move an inch.

So they can't get out but that doesn't stop the smoke from pouring in from a heating grate situated on the floor. The only thing that keeps them from keeling over and just asphyxiating right there is that there's a broken window in the far wall. When he looks out though, there's nothing but a whole lot of empty space and the unmistakable smell of the lake.

He turns to the Mountie to see if he has any ideas and man, the guy is just made for moonlight. Standing by the window, in that ridiculous uniform with those red lips, and pale skin, he's something out of a fairy tale. He's looking straight at Ray, radiating that attitude of utter assurance that is so goddamn sexy.

"I have a plan."

And Ray has a sinking feeling about what happens next, because he can see the writing on the wall. Call it fate, destiny, or whatever. In the end it doesn't matter. Deep in his gut he knows that no matter how insane or stupid this plan turns out to be, wherever this guy ends up leading, he's going to follow.

 

* * *

 

In the shifting realm that lies beneath true consciousness, Benton can feel his lips shape a word. It's meaning is hidden in the grayness that surrounds him. For a second time, it bubbles up from the deep well that he inhabits, leaving him behind. He rises with the third repetition paradoxically feeling heavier and heaver until he is stranded, eyes wide open in a brightly lit world that refuses to make sense.

There above him, beaming down as if he had just performed some exceptionally clever trick, is a familiar and dear face. Familiar and wrong. To his great distress, he does not know why this is so.

"Yeah, yeah, Benny. I'm here already"

"Ray?"

"Uh huh, me Ray, you Fraser. I think we've got that pretty well established. Are you ok?"

No, he is not. Every place he looks insists on spinning, his body is one large ache and he is bereft, his chest filled with grief from an unknown source.

"I appear to be physically sound"

Ray rolls his eyes.

"Uh huh, does physically sound mean covered with bruises and a possible concussion? Because that's what the doctors say. And let's not even go into your attempt to swallow all of Lake Michigan, because really what's a little drowning between friends? "

"Ray"

"Stop it with the name thing, ok? Just tell me why? Why the hell you couldn't have just taken a moment to call and say "Hey Ray, I think the vigilante arsonist we've been chasing is going to do his thing tonight"? Because that's what friends do, Benny. They don't go off on their own and leave the other guy behind to play Timmy's down the well with a wolf!"

At the word wolf, there is a bark from somewhere below and to his complete surprise, Diefenbaker appears from nowhere to place his paws on his bed.

"Dief?"

"Yeah, he insisted on coming, so I got him in by saying he's your seeing eye dog."

Dief growls, making it clear that he too finds Benton's behavior lacking in courtesy and common sense.

Benton feels harassed and at odds with every aspect of his situation. Being taken to task for events he cannot clearly remember hardly seems fair and the feeling of loss still sits heavy in his heart without reason or cause.

"You're just lucky that I was able to tell Dief's "Fraser's just gone into a burning building" bark apart from his "I really want a doughnut" bark or we wouldn't have gotten there just in time to see you do your dive into the goddamn lake."

Yes, he had jumped, hadn't he? From a great height into utter darkness. That was important.

"I mean, what were you thinking? Were you even thinking? Or did you just look down and go "Hmm, I've never endangered my life this way before so why not give it a try?"

He had been in a room. Trapped. There had been smoke. A voice. A hand, warm in his own.

"And hey, why not take someone with me while I do it?"

It's like hitting the water all over again. Without mercy or kindness, his memory is restored.

"Ray!"

"What! What is with you and my name suddenly?"

"What happened to the man I was with?

"What, the guy? I don't know, he's probably still being check out by the doctor. Wait a minute, is he the arsonist? Jesus, I didn't even think. OK, you stay here, I'm going to arrest him before he can get away."

"Ray, no! Stop!"

It is, of course, too late. Ray is gone, all but running in his eagerness to close this case before any more people are endangered. Ignoring his dizziness and battered lungs, Benton scrambles from the bed and quickly tries to get his bearings. He is standing in a space separated from a larger room by hanging drapes. From the scent of blood and chemicals, it's clear he is in a hospital and from the sounds that are coming from beyond the curtain, he can easily deduce that he is in an emergency room. In fact factoring in the location of the warehouse, the established routes of the EMTs and the fact that most hospitals in Chicago are built with the same general floor plan, he is most likely in the south corner of Northwestern Memorial. Which would place the waiting rooms 30 meters north of his current location, the cafeteria downstairs and 85 meters southwest and the nurses' station a good 48 meters away. Ray's first course of action will be locate a nurse and demand to know where the man who was admitted with his friend can be found. Between his manner of asking and the nurse's confusion, it will no doubt be at least fifteen minutes before Ray will be given the information he has requested.

Diefenbaker is watching him with a faintly puzzled air and barks to get his attention.

"I'm afraid I don't have time to explain right now. It is imperative I find the man before Ray. Do you think you can track him? I believe that if you focus primarily on the... "

Dief interrupts with a snort and indicates that he had more than enough opportunity at the lake to catch the man's scent and he hardly requires advice from Benton on tracking one person in an area as small as a hospital.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call your ability into question."

With one last irritated glance, Dief leads the way out of the curtains leaving Benton to follow.

They find the man, Ray, in a small auxiliary to the visitor's lobby. He is standing with his head bent, so intent on a woman who is clutching his arm and urgently speaking that he does not notice Benton's arrival. Under the room's harsh florescent lights, he is a creature of vertical lines and angles, even his hair resisting any urge toward the horizontal. Clad in a leather jacket, with silver glinting from his wrist, there is nothing about his appearance that is either familiar or safe and Benton's confidence melts away like snow under the sun. It suddenly seems wildly presumptuous to have even entertained the thought that he and this stranger had shared a moment of intimacy.

He is halfway to deciding that a better course of action would be to intercept his friend and correct his misunderstanding, when Ray raises his head. Pinned under the weight those eyes, conscious thought is once again impossible.

He is distantly aware that he is simply standing, looking mutely at the man and his one consolation is that Ray seems just as incapable of speech. His companion notices his distraction and her gaze finally breaks the spell.

Benton takes a discrete breath and forces his legs to cross the room.

"Umm, hey. We were waiting to hear how you would doing. But I guess you're doing ok if they're letting you leave the ER and all."

"Ah, yes I'm quite fit, as you can see. Fit as a fiddle"

Dear God, this is excruciating.

In sharp contrast to Ray's earlier calm, he is now in near constant motion. Shifting from one leg to another as if to accompany some invisible metronome, he uses his hands to illustrate his words with expressive gestures. While Ray becomes more animated, Benton can feels himself growing ever more and more frozen. Irrationally, he suddenly fears that their states will grow so divergent that communication will become impossible.

The woman clears her throat and Ray jumps at the noise.

"Oh, this is Rachael Franklin. She works with me at the Dell Franklin Youth Center. Where we both work."

"Hello."

Benton he takes her hand and his mind automatically catalogues the details: female, brunette, in her late forties, dressed professionally despite the late hour, the calluses on the pads of her fingers indicating her job requires a certain degree of typing, the shadows under her eyes revealing a long standing pattern of sleep deficiency and stress.

"A pleasure to meet you."

Miss Franklin gives a distracted smile in reply. Her mind seems elsewhere and she is clearly uninterested in starting a conversation. The silence stretches out into almost unbearable awkwardness. He and Ray wear the same painfully artificial smile and say nothing while Miss Franklin looks on with impatient eyes. Finally, in desperation, Benton abandons courtesy and resorts to bluntness.

"Mr. Kowalski, I was wondering if I might have a word with you."

He cannot bring himself to add "alone" as it would be unforgivably rude, but he hopes that it's implication is clearly heard. For a moment, Miss Franklin hesitates and Benton fears she will ignore his unspoken request, but in the end she takes her cue.

"Ray, I'm going to get some coffee before we go. I'll meet you in the cafeteria."

"OK"

She disappears behind the elevator doors, leaving them alone but for the other's company.

"Mr. Kowalski, what happened..."

"That is to say, when we were..."

"Do you think..."

Benton has no earthly idea what it is he wants to communicate and with every false start, Ray's body seems to wind tighter and tighter. Ray's earlier physical expressiveness is now confined within hunched shoulders and tightly crossed arms while his face grows shuttered and defensive. Benton's clumsy inability to say something, anything at all, is turning the man to stone right before his eyes.

Soon, very soon, his time will be up and his opportunity gone. Goddamn it, where are the words? Standing before this man, his mind is rendered a barren place and there is nothing in his training, his grandmother's books, or his father's journals to guide him.

"What I mean to say is.."

It's a waking nightmare, where his every step, no matter the direction, just leads him further off the path.

He has nearly succumbed to despair, when Diefenbaker saves him.

Shamefully, he has forgotten the wolf's presence all together and thus neglected even the barest introduction. This combined with his paralyzing ineptitude has clearly tried the last of Dief's patience.

From Ray's perspective, it must seem that a large white blur appears from nowhere to launch itself straight in his direction. He instinctively flinches back, but to no avail.

"What the.."

Overbalanced, they both tumble to the ground and Dief takes the opportunity to settle on Ray's chest and lick his ear in greeting.

"Hey, hey get him off me! What's he doing?"

When Ray attempts to push him away, Diefenbaker growls.

"Dief, stop that!"

Diefenbaker ignores him completely and gives Ray's ear another lick.

"Aahhh, he's trying to eat me!"

"I'm terribly sorry, this is my wolf, Diefenbaker. I should have made the introductions earlier. Dief off! I'm afraid he's deaf, but he's perfectly capable of reading lips. Dief get off Mr. Kowalski right this instant!"

Benton is crouched beside them and waving his arms to get Dief's attention when Ray begins to laugh. It starts out small, but it expands until his entire body is shaking, bringing him back to life and banishing that horrible stillness. Benton feels his own awkwardness fall away and suddenly what felt so impossible doesn't seem that difficult at all.

"You think you can call me Ray? I think when a guy gets smushed by another guy's deaf wolf, formality should just go straight out the window."

"You're quite right. Diefenbaker, please get off Ray."

Amazingly enough, Dief obeys. Standing, he moves and allows Ray to rise into a sitting position.

"Wait, so this is the talking wolf that called the fire department? Cool."

Ray reaches out to scratch Dief's ears, which Dief happily allows.

"Ah, yes. More or less."

Benton waits until Ray is finished showing his appreciation and extends his hand to help him off the floor. Ray accepts his aid but once he gains his feet, Benton does not step away. Again there is silence and this is his last chance, but it doesn't matter. He knows what he wants and he has the words to ask it.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

The same smile that had so dazzled Benton before, is back and nearly blinding.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, tomorrow night or technically, since it is just past midnight, tonight."

"Ok. Where?"

"Lee's Wok, in Chinatown.

"Ok. When?"

"7:30"

"Yeah, sure, ok."

With that, the matter seems to be settled. This time, the smile they share is completely genuine and somewhat foolish.

"I should probably go. Rachael's waiting to give me a ride home."

"Of course"

"So, I'm going now."

It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to break their tableaux. He accompanies Ray to the elevator, which to his disappointment, opens immediately.

"Tomorrow night, right?"

"Yes"

He continues to hold Ray's gaze even as he hears Ray Vecchio's rapid approach.

"Hey, that's the guy. Fraser, stop him!"

Benton smiles one more time to reassure Ray that all is well. The doors close and then he is gone.

At his side, Ray Vecchio skids to a halt and hits the elevator buttons several times in frustration.

"Fraser, he's getting away!"

"Ray, he's not the arsonist."

"Well, that's just great. Who the hell is then?"

"Mr. Charles Henderson. I noticed that the mixture used to create the fire tonight was a unique blend of gasoline, coal tar creosote and white phosphorus. White phosphorus is fairly hard to come by, but Mr. Henderson might have access to it through his acquaintances in the military. Also, when we interviewed him yesterday, he smelled strongly of roofing tar."

"So, good. We go arrest him and case closed."

"Indeed."

"Benny?"

"Yes, Ray"

"Why are we standing here, staring at an elevator?"

"I don't really know"

"In that case do you think we can work on getting you out of here so I can go home? It's been a long day."

"Yes, it has"

Diefenbaker also agrees with the sentiment and with a smug look in Benton's direction, he accompanies Ray back to the emergency room.  


Benton takes one last look at the elevator's closed doors and then he too, turns away.


End file.
